


Uruchomić z Wilkami

by Zoom Zoom (PaperLillyWebs)



Series: If it Weren't for Those Meddling Kids [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Canonical Character Death, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Derek is a Good Alpha, Full Shift Werewolves, Imagine a NW US-esque setting, Isaac is literal puppy, Lupa - Freeform, Lydia is the Hale Emissary, M is for violence, M/M, Multi, No Smut, POV Second Person, Pack Feels, Polish Folklore and Magic, Puppy Piles, Stiles Name Reveal, Stiles whump, Stilinskis are Polish, h/c, tw: seizures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:17:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3798139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperLillyWebs/pseuds/Zoom%20Zoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spurred by renewed energy, you scramble to start running again, with no clue of where you’re heading, just that it’s opposite of those howls. <i>Why did it have to be the full moon</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uruchomić z Wilkami

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Czerwony Kapturek](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3139925) by [Zoom Zoom (PaperLillyWebs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperLillyWebs/pseuds/Zoom%20Zoom). 



  _December 21st, 2010_

_Stiles_

* * *

 

  Nothing good ever happens on full moons. Not here. The residence of Beacon Hills are keenly aware of this, and maybe you more than anyone. Ever since you were a kid, your dad had taught you the importance of wolfsbane-lined locks, and self defense, and never leaving your pocket knife at home. Ever since your mom died, your dad had taken protecting you to a whole new level; maybe it’s retaliation for the no-salt foods.

  But wolfsbane doesn’t protect against vampires.

  Gasping for breath, you trip over a tree root, and almost end up sprawling to the forest floor. You quickly find your balance and push on, ignoring the biting wind that goes easily through your t-shirt. You’re already miles out into the preserve, but you push on. You can still feel fire licking the back of your neck, and _Jesus Christ_ , you can’t do anything but keep running.

  It hadn’t been snowing when you’d left. Now, flakes stick to your hair and your eyelashes, melting on your lips. Winters here are never kind, always cold, always dark. Granted, you usually spend them in front of a heater wrapped in five blankets.

  Something caws overhead, and you nearly jump out of your skin. God, you hate birds, ever since a pigeon came at you in the park when you were, like, three. Your mom had been in the hospital, and your dad had had to patch you up—

  _Christ, your dad._

  A raw sound tears itself from your throat. You push past a tree that looks like it’s had a recent run in with some lightning, ignoring the charred splinter you get in your palm. You don’t know where exactly you’re running to, all help would lie behind you, in town, but you don’t stop.

  You should stop, you know you should, your legs barely able to hold you up anymore. Your feet keep slipping on the snowy leaves, and your fingers are numb. With the sickeningly warm feeling spreading across your chest and leaving a trail behind you, you’re pretty sure you’re about to lose your guts too.

  You determinedly don’t look down, for fear of puking all over the roots of a gnarled-looking rowan.

  Somewhere far into the forest, back towards the town, you think, you start to hear the howls everyone in town feared. You skid to a stop and look towards the source, your breath lodged in your throat. The last thing you fucking need right now is to deal with the Hales. You’ve heard stories of Hale biting minors to flesh out his pack, and you have absolutely no intention of becoming a wolf.

  Spurred by renewed energy, you scramble to start running again, with no clue of where you’re heading, just that it’s opposite of those howls. _Why did it have to be the full moon._

  It’s a while before the howls fade, and you feel safe enough to slow down. When you look over your shoulder, it doesn’t _look_  like anyone’s following you, but you’re not exactly a supe with super hearing, or smell, or anything.

  In your moment of distraction, you completely miss the huge-ass stump you’re running right towards. It takes only a second for you to snag a foot, your bad foot, on the roots and hit the ground with a smack.

  Your breath leaves your chest in a rush as you scrape your hands down the side of the truly gargantuan stump you’ve tripped on. Something black and gooey gets stuck under your nails, but that’s really last on your very-long list of problems. Top of the list is probably the fact you’re face-down in a snow bank in the middle of an unknown part of the forest, retching for breath and gagging on the snow that clogs your nose. Oh, and the fact the snow underneath you practically steams where your blood drips onto it.

  It takes all you have to turn yourself over, propped part way against the stump and suddenly very dizzy. You can’t feel your hands anymore, but a quick glance tells you your palms are bleeding, which is just a shitty cherry on the top of a very shitty night.

  You can still smell the smoke, oh god.

  You gag again, but you’d eaten so little that day, there’s nothing to force up. Instead, you’re just left heaving.

  After a while of doing nothing but sitting there, hoping to catch your breath enough to force yourself on, you realize that you’re probably not going to get up again. You can’t feel your feet now, and you’re well aware of the snow piling on top of you, slowly but steadily.

  You kick yourself for not going strought to Scott’s, for going in the completely wrong direction. But with your dad’s yells to run in your ears, you’d done just that.

  You close your eyes as your breathing settles a little bit. Clumsily wiping your mouth on the back of your hand, you start to think maybe dying here wouldn’t be all that bad; it’d certainly be better than getting ripped apart by vampires. Which is a horrible thing to imagine when you’re already feeling queasy.

  You groan and force the feeling down, pushing away all the memories of the last things you’d seen as the blonde vampire had set your house ablaze: your father pinned against the wall, screaming for you to leave. Blood everywhere, god there had been so much blood—

  A sharp yip yanks you from your thoughts, eyes flying open. There’s some space between the stump and the surrounding forest, almost as if the trees were afraid to grow too close, and directly in front of you, standing next to the very last tree before the clearing is a sandy-colored wolf, which, wow, is bullshit you do not want to deal with right now.

  You don’t move, hoping it’ll just go away, but then the wolf starts to take cautious steps forward, tail aimed downwards. Like he’s afraid of _you_. You almost laugh.

  It isn’t until the wolf is little more than a foot away that you try to back up. Weakly pushing yourself further against the stump isn’t going to help anything, you know that, but it’s certainly better than just laying there.

  The wolf hesitates at your feet. Huge blue eyes watch you intently, assessing you, you think. Honestly, it’s hard to look away, the danger aside; you’ve never been this close to a wolf before, were or not. You’ve never realized just how powerful they look, with rippling muscles and absolutely gorgeous-looking fur.

  Weird thought to have. You kick yourself for it.

  The wolf pulls back his lips, but doesn’t growl. Instead, it kind of looks like he’s smiling.

  He takes another few steps forward, until his snout is mere inches from your nose, and you can feel his breath on your skin. He inhales deeply several times, then ducks his head to snuffle at the red splotch across your chest.

  Automatically, you shove him away, because you are _not_ letting him bite you, not today, no siree.

  Yipping again softly, he steps away a little, and christ, he looks offended. You refuse to feel bad for him.

  He plops down on his haunches to watch you again. Unnerving, really, but he kind of looks like the puppy you and Scott had dogsat when you were ten. Wouldn’t that be awkward.

  “What,” you grit out, the edges of your vision starting to cloud a little bit; you do not need to pass out right now.

  He thumps his tail across the ground a few times, chuffing with a high-pitched sound in the back of his throat, almost like a whine. He noses at your leg, but doesn’t come closer again.

  “Go away.” He doesn’t listen, obviously, just sits there, obnoxiously close and friendly-looking.

  The darkness at the edges of your eyes pulls at your lids, no matter how much you try to keep them open, the adrenaline from your mad sprinting earlier definitely crashing. You’ve never exactly had the best timing, with anything; the only time you’d ever been bedridden by an illness was when Scott’s dad skipped town, when your best friend needed you most.

  The wolf chuffs loudly, nosing at your face when you close your eyes to ignore it. “Stop that,” you groan, weakly shoving at him again. He doesn’t listen this time either, jabbing at your cheek repeatedly with his wet nose.

  He keeps this up for a bit, but seems to realize it isn’t doing much. He pulls away and backs up just enough to sit down. Instead of watching you, though, he throws back his head and howls. _Fucking loudly._

  You cringe away from the sound, away from two answering howls from somewhere in the direction of the town. Oh great, they’re going to eat you.

  The sudden weight on your leg makes your eyes fly open, only to see the wolf making himself comfortable with his head on your thigh. It seems dangerous to hope, but maybe wolves don’t actually eat humans.

  You sigh inwardly, deciding there’s nothing you can do no matter what. You shut your eyes and lean back again, but you don’t get much time to rest, another howl shattering the quiet minutes after the first.

  The sandy wolf raises his head and yips at the edge of the clearing. You follow his gaze, where two more wolves are cautiously, but quickly, making their way over to you. While you had been able to convince yourself that you’d been dealing with a friendly, completely-animal wolf before, the honey-blonde one that takes one look at you before running over is most definitely a werewolf. Fantastic.

  And the black one that follows it, far bigger than any dog you’ve seen, looks at you in a way that is so _human_ , you don’t push it away when it sniffs at your face.

  “Please don’t eat me,” you mumble, just to be sure. The black wolf looks unimpressed.

  It turns to nod at the blonde one, who shuffles around for a moment, then sits back. And, no, you do not scream when suddenly there is a very naked, very curvy girl bending over you and asking you what the hell happened to your face.


End file.
